


What can you break, even if you never pick it up or touch it?

by ForgottenChesire



Series: Christmas 2020 [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, M/M, Zombie Animal AU, Zombie Related Gore, angst and no comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28323162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenChesire/pseuds/ForgottenChesire
Summary: They had laughed. Nearly doubled over when the nameless lackey had stumbled in, bleeding, hands waving as he squawked about being attacked by a pigeon. To them it was just another day in Gotham where even the birds will take a bite out of you. But Ed isn’t laughing now. Zombie animals. A laughable concept, fated for b movies and cheap chuckles. Until it becomes a reality. Terrifying. As animal after animal turned. There is nothing more terrible than Gotham with all its strays, all its rats and birds, the fucking fish in the sea.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Series: Christmas 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074215
Kudos: 14





	What can you break, even if you never pick it up or touch it?

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas present time is here. Zombie AU? Yas~

Ed Nygma holds Oswald’s hand gently. Presses kisses to it reverently. They had laughed. Nearly doubled over when the nameless lackey had stumbled in, bleeding, hands waving as he squawked about being attacked by a  _ pigeon _ . To them it was just another day in Gotham where even the birds will take a bite out of you. But Ed isn’t laughing now. Oswald is dying. The city is on fire even more than usual. The air thick with smog and smoke. And  _ Oswald _ is  _ dying _ . Pale skin flushed red with infection. Rats had managed to chew into the mansion. Hundreds of them with cloudy eyes. The chittering sounds haunting Ed’s nightmares.

Zombie animals. A laughable concept, fated for b movies and cheap chuckles. Until it becomes a reality. Terrifying. As animal after animal turned. There is nothing more terrible than Gotham with all its strays, all its rats and birds, the fucking fish in the sea. Ed suppresses a shudder, forcing what  _ could _ have happened to Oswald out of his mind.

“He’s getting worse,” Ivy whispers, flinching as Oswald sucks in a rattling breath. 

The left side of her face and her left arm is horribly scarred.  _ Cats _ . Trying to save her feline themed friend.  _ Trying _ being the key word. In between infecting animals not already zombified and destroying phone lines, power lines, otherwise plunging Gotham further back into a complete fucking cesspool of antiqueness, the undead beasts have taken to eating humans like a child eats Halloween candy. Like salvation for them can be found in the human intestines.

“I don’t have what I need to help him.”

She has exactly three plants left to her name and those three plants are dying even with her tender care. The greenhouse that had been her child destroyed by deer. Victor clears his throat. He’s missing three fingers and the tip of his nose but still standing. Still loyal. He looks at Oswald with worry.

“Doc Thompkins is still on the short wave. Says she has some extra supplies between ranting about trying to make a cure. Might have some antibiotics.”

Oswald lets out a pitiful moan. Blue eyes fluttering, never quite opening. His hand twitching in Ed’s.

“Ed?”

“I’m here.”

The slight man moans his name again. Afraid. Trapped, Ed has come to learn, in the hell that was those last moments before that rats swarmed. They had had a fight beforehand. Moments. Seconds. He doesn’t remember what they fought about.  _ He does. _ He remembers how Oswald’s shouting had turned to screams. How the chittering, chuffing had echoed. The sounds of gunshots. The body that he was sure was Oswald until he heard his name breathed out.

He kisses fever hot skin. Near translucent. Pale veins stretched and thin. Oswald will die if he doesn’t get antibiotics. And that is unacceptable. The only one allowed to kill Oswald is him, the only thing a bullet from his gun. He pulls back. Finds glassy blue eyes staring at him but not seeing him. His lips moving though no sound emerges. Ed rests his forehead on Oswald’s.

“What is more rare and more valuable than gold, but easier to lose?”

How many times had he almost lost Oswald? For valid reasons. For petty reasons. Time lost and spent. He straightens up.

“Keep him safe.”

The bald assassin nods his head. Knowing better than to suggest that he come with. That following him was more important than Oswald. He looks back one last time before heading to their ever sparser armory.

* * *

Before the world had gone to shit, the mansion had been a strategic haven. Far enough outside the hustle and bustle of Gotham that the coming and goings of minions and associates hadn’t been questioned. Space where Oswald’s little firebug and ice thrower could have their spats and Ivy could grow her dangerous things. Victor loved using the forest around it as target practice and hunting ground for when he was bored. 

Now? The distance between it and the city is insurmountable on the best of days. Supply runs and hopes that someone else is still alive other than Doc Thompkins. Jim, little Bruce and his butler. Hell even Tabitha would be a pleasant sight. The woods once peaceful, now filled with death. Decaying bodies of munched on humans and animals that are slowly falling apart. Turning on each other. He can hear the screams as he jogs down the road.

He reaches the city as night begins to fall. The towering buildings like ghastly skeletons reaching up to the sky. Shelter. He needs shelter. Can hear the rats moving. The whisper flip of birds. Owls. Gotham didn’t have owls in the city proper before this. If one didn’t count the Court or exotic pets. He barricades himself in the first building that looks like it’ll stand half the night. Curls up on a table. Falls into a restless sleep. Wakes to the thumping steps of something big moving down the streets. 

An elephant. Ed watches in morbid fascination as the large animal slowly moves. Grey skin saggy and one ear almost off. Yaro the elephant. The zoo animals have escaped. Which means that somewhere in the city lions, tigers, and other dangerous things might roam free. This already dangerous journey into the bowels of Gotham just became that much worse. He takes a deep breath. Sees Oswald in his mind eye, hears his voice. That is why he is here. Oswald.

He kills three cats before he gets his first bite. A German Shepard that bursts out of an alleyway, latches on to Ed’s calf like it’s a chew toy. The virus that destroys the animals mind doesn’t transfer over through humans. Not yet. Hopefully not ever. He gains more scratches the deeper he goes. A bite from a baboon in front of a barber shop.

It’s because of the baboon bite, disastrously close to his throat, that he doesn’t notice the growing shadow. The clips, the clops of hooves on pavement. Until one hoof bashes into his leg with a sickening crack. The hoof lashes out again. And again. Mottled and gross his hooved assailant follows his limping movements, getting a good kick to his ribs before he’s able to get off a shot. A glancing blow. Aim. Fire. Another near hit. A giraffe. He’s going to be killed by a giraffe. And then the giraffe’s head explodes. The less said about that the better.

“You still alive?”

He knows that voice. Less than sane but not  _ insane _ . Leslie Thompkins. She stands there, her gun pointed at the ground, finger primed to squeeze the trigger if needed. He lets out a moan in answer. Pretty sure at least two ribs are broken. She leans over him, crossing the distance in a blink.

“Still alive. The Riddler without his bird? Or is he why you’re out here?”

The answer is on his lips but the pain drags him under.

He wakes to blinding pain. Thompkins hands are on his leg. Snapping it into place with practiced ease. There is no sympathy in her brown eyes as she does so. Just cool efficiency.

“Went through your bags. Whatever you want for the herbs you have and a box of ammo. I think some of my men use that type of gun.”

Ed lets her help him sit up. Ribs aching but not murdering him.

“Antibiotics. Rat bite infection.”

Thompkins hums.

“I’ll toss in a tetanus shot too. You should stay for a week.”

Ed growls, lips pulled back in an animal like snarl. He’s been gone too long as it is. It will take him another day, two days with his leg like this. Using the cars that litter the street is more dangerous than simply walking, the noise drawing in zombies like moths to a flame.

“I can’t spare an escort.”

“Don’t need one.”

She sees him off, crutch under one arm medicine wrapped securely in his pack.

“Try not to die, Nygma.”

* * *

Walking with a crutch isn’t easy. In some ways it’s easier than before. No pickpockets and muggers looking for an easy target. No knife to be pressed against his neck with hissed out demands for money. What there is, is starving pets not yet turned, dead bodies for the crutch to catch and zombies. He doesn’t make it far before the sun sets. Owls screeching their displeasure into the air. Keeps on pushing though. Has to get home. Needs to get home.

He stops when he startles a bird and it nearly takes off his nose. Barricades himself in. Prays to a god that he doesn’t believe in. Wakes up twice to mice nibbling on his shoes. Unturned but hungry. 

The morning light is weak. The walk long. Runs into Yaro once, the elephant chasing down a mutt of some kind. Hears the yelp of pain as it dies by that giant foot. If it ever left the city the mansion wouldn’t stand a chance.

The woods make for a monotonous green hellscape that never ends. He kills three infected deer, one is missing an eye. Maybe it’s wishful thinking that it’s one that destroyed Ivy’s greenhouse. He’ll tell her it was anyways. Get her to smile. They’ve never said it out loud.  _ Oswald had. _ But Ivy was like a daughter, Selina had been a daughter. Even the little firebug. Children. Sentiment. Care. Weakness. Oswald is weakness and strength and the reason he keeps on moving.

Fries is sitting on the steps as he nears. The moon is high and Ed can hear wolves howl in the distance. Can hear gunshots and angry screams. The man of ice has his head in his hands. Not crying. Ed doesn’t think the man has cried since his wife died years ago.

The crutch drops. His heart stops as he struggles up the stairs. Bats away weakly resisting arms. Slams open the door. Limps. Limps down the long hallway and up the stairs. Ignores the wailing that comes from Ivy’s room. Ed stands there. Backpack dropping to the floor. Oswald is sleeping. He has to be sleeping. The shorter man sleeps like the dead when he isn’t well. Ed ignores the silence of the room. The lack of snuffling snores or laboured breathing. The way a thin chest doesn’t move the mountain blankets on him.

“Oswald?”

Ivy’s wails increase. Deafening. Drowning out the ‘Ed’ Oswald must say. He collapses on the bed. Hand reaching out. Pale skin no longer flushed. Still warm but… cooling. Cooling. Gone. 

“He… he went… ten minutes ago,” Ivy says, voice cracked. She’s clinging to the doorway. Looking her young age. There is no blame in her voice. She should blame him. He took too long.

“Love,” he whispers, answering the riddle he left Oswald with. Love.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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